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" 'It' can not be seen.
'It' can not be heard.
'It' can only be felt.
As a creeping dread, a moving shadow in the dark recess of your mind.
A shapeless being. "

Welcome, everyone, to the forum game 'It'.
The rules of the game are simple, each poster can choose one, or two of their fellow members from 'the List' to keep close to themself, removing their name from it. Once the list is down to it's last name, 'It' strikes. When struck by 'It', the victimized member is then disqualified. The cycle repeats, 'til there lasts only one. However, before we start, make sure to take note of:

Picture if you will, a small, secluded town. A town of picturesque simplicity. A town who's name and location shall remain nothing but a ghost. Now close your eyes and see it, a Bed & Breakfast that is lit up with laughter. For on this night, a group of regulars on a popular forum have gathered together. But despite their mirth, there lurks a dark pall. An evil being, that unbeknowst to them is plotting, and watching. A shapeless beast,that lacks any name, but is know only by legend. A thing know only as 'It'.

-First Dead-
'It' is formless. Thus, 'It' is in the form of everything. For some, as a crack in the hourglass of life. A hairline fracture that need only be breathed on, be tempted ever so gently, to leave them in peices.

Not a word was heard in the warm room of the Bed and Breakfast. Not even a sound, for it seemed that the world itself had fallen mute. And Crickets and Wolves alike, all life abided by this new law. Or, perhaps, it was merely the abience. A beastly premonition of the things to come. Things that not all would see. A fact that became painfully clear as Livewire and Drakow walked back down the stairs, and into the large, open living area. The news, like broken glass, had come cuttingly, jaggedly, sharp. Snorlax had stepped backwards into the window. His fate an eternal slumber. But the realisation of a question left unanswered quickly swept through the crowd, leaving little time to mourn.

Why had he screamed before the glass broke?

-Something in the Air-
The crowd stood morose around the crumpled body of Snorlax. The more moralistic of the group trying to keep the younger ex-celebrants from approaching the corpse. The rest had started discussing, asking questions that no one had an answer too. No one living.

". . . Why did he scream?"

"Maybe he tripped, and did when he fell out?"

"He screamed before the glass broke, we all heard it."

"Did he. . . see something?"

"What would he have seen? I checked the entire floor, there was nothing else there."

"Look, we can't just stand out here. Did somebody call 911?"

"I did."

"Then let's go inside."

"We can't just leave him here like this."

"He's already dead."

"But we still shouldn't. . . -"

"I'll help you. Grab his legs."

The first decision made, the rest of the group moved back into the B&B, as Michonne and JNathan reached to lift the body. But as they moved him onto his back, from off his arm, they saw his face. Twisted, and macabre, frozen in a look that proceeded human. One of primal disgust, anger, and terror. Like that of a dog the has been back into a corner, and knows that it will die, but curses the hand that kills, hoping to at least harm it's destroyer as it's last will.Exchanging a look of nausea, the pair lifted their newly dead friend and followed the rest of the group.

. . .

CarcharOdin was still inside the house. Having stayed inside to look around as the others left to delibrate. Climbing the stairs, thoughts swum through his head. Why did this happen? Snorlax didn't seemed depressed, why would he jump? Why did I even come here? But he thoughts were not fated to last long.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused. Was that a figure he just saw? Calling out, he set down the hall in pursuit, turning the corner in little time, and finding a dead end. There were four doors on this side of the building, and one was open. Cautiously, he stepped inside. But the moment his foot hit the floor of the room, his mind went blank.

-Cracked and Breaking-
The group had just about made it to the door, Snorlax in tow, when Daughter of Dawn spoke:

"Guys, can you keep it down, I've got a really bad headache."

"But, nobody was talking. . . ?"

"I don't know, it just sounds really loud out here. . ."

. . .

CarcharOdin was smiling.
A smile that defied it's owner. A smile that exuded anything but bonhomie. A smile that tore the skin.
Jerking his head foward his mind cleared. When had he got into the bathroom? Brushing it off, turned to go downstairs. The noises were an obvious sign that the others had come back inside.
But when he reached the living room, there was nobody there.

. . .

Carchar was standing in the center of the living room, downstairs, when the group re-entered. His back was turned to the door.

"Tyler, what are you doing?"

No reply.

"Tyler! Hey!"

He turned around.

"Oh, hey. I'm fine. Thought I saw something."

"Okay, well, we need to fi-"

"Guys, please, quiet down! I don't feel good."

Daughter of Dawn was now crouched down on the floor, covering her eyes and ears. Her limbs hurt, her body ached, her head pounded. Every sound seemed to roar. Every light seemed to glare. Were those gun shots, just now? Confusion swept in, as she fell to her side. The world started spinning, and pulsing around her. And the young, healthy girl, began to have a seizure.

'It' is formless. Thus, 'It' is in the form of everything. For some, as a crack in the hourglass of life. A hairline fracture that need only be breathed on, be tempted ever so gently, to leave them in peices.

Not a word was heard in the warm room of the Bed and Breakfast. Not even a sound, for it seemed that the world itself had fallen mute. And Crickets and Wolves alike, all life abided by this new law. Or, perhaps, it was merely the abience. A beastly premonition of the things to come. Things that not all would see. A fact that became painfully clear as Livewire and Drakow walked back down the stairs, and into the large, open living area. The news, like broken glass, had come cuttingly, jaggedly, sharp. Snorlax had stepped backwards into the window. His fate an eternal slumber. But the realisation of a question left unanswered quickly swept through the crowd, leaving little time to mourn.

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